


The Boy With the White Heart

by thecayenneknight



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 08:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16343153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecayenneknight/pseuds/thecayenneknight
Summary: As a pirate, Law was the mastermind behind the Rocky Port Incident, the captain of the Heart Pirates, and the most feared of all the Pirate King's allies. Now, partially thanks to him, the world has taken on a new status quo which leaves its future uncertain. The Four Emperors have fallen. The Holy Land has burned. The Navy is in shambles and what is left of it is fighting among themselves. Law knows even with the power of the Ope Ope no Mi he can only heal so much of the damage he had a hand in causing, but as a doctor it's his duty to heal the sick and broken. Knowing this, he returns to his homeland to start anew, and soon finds himself the king of New Flevance. Determined and stubborn, he is set to restore his homeland to its former prosperity. But how can he avoid the greed of the people and his own bitterness to ensure that the past doesn't repeat itself?





	The Boy With the White Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this first chapter in one sitting on a whim based on a half-formed thought. I have no idea what Law will do, what adventures lie in wait for him, or how the next chapter will start. I don't even know what tags to put up! Needless to say, a lot of things will change and be added as I get a better grasp of the fic, but for now it is a simple story of Law confronting his past. Comments, feedback, and constructive criticism are warmly welcomed.

For the first time since Cora-san kidnapped him, Law dreamed about his family. That night he’d fallen onto the futon having had far more liquor than he’d ever had, which he blamed Luffy for completely. Law did not like indulging in the wretched excess of anything, especially of alcohol and its mind-atrophying effects. He’d known early on he was drinking too much and not eating enough, but every time he went without a mug in his hand Luffy would suddenly gain the ability to be attentive and pull himself over with a rubber arm no matter how much space was between them or what was in the way. Plates, drinks, people— all were knocked over and sent sprawling across the floor as the Pirate King rushed to make sure Law didn’t go without a drink for one damn minute.

After months of the Strawhat-Heart Alliance, which even Law had to admit was a complete joke and even funnier was the idea that their relationship had had any sort of formality at all, Law should have realized when he was still relatively sober that his best course of action would have been to fill an empty whiskey bottle with tropical juice and carry it around with him for the evening. He’d attended enough of Luffy’s parties to know that the greatest crime after not having food and not dancing was not drinking, but only he seemed to have trouble following these simple rules of attendance. Words like “aloof” and “priggish” came to mind to describe his apparent attitude toward parties. That couldn’t be further from the truth, he liked parties just fine, so it was probably for this reason that after a few initial drinks it was much easier to convince him to continue drinking. It also probably didn’t hurt that Luffy was the one insisting, though Law would cut his own tongue out before admitting to it.

There was no telling how he made it as far as their makeshift bedroom in the first place. Chaos filled the dilapidated grand hall of the ancient castle Luffy had claimed for his use. Time did not tire the party-goers. In fact, it seemed to do the opposite, invigorating them as though they were building up to feast and celebrate for days. Sanji and his team of cooks brought gigantic tray after gigantic tray of fragrant, steaming dishes; barrels of alcohol materialized from nowhere; the guests, some ten-thousand of them probably, packed themselves into the grand hall and those that couldn’t fit filled every nook and crevice from the castle to the port where the lights from the ships’ riggings seemed to stretch out miles into the water. Brook led the band on the piano through sets of sea shanties and inserted his own rock and roll singles praising the king of the pirates and glorious life on the sea in-between. As for his own crew, Law hadn’t seen them in hours. In the past, he’d always been pleased with their ability to disappear into crowds. They’d all probably been swallowed up by the energy of Luffy’s allies and could safely be considered gone for the duration.

He braced his hand against the mossy walls to hold himself upright. Raftel was a spring island and it was the heart of autumn. The damp wind blew through the broken windows to slap some sense into him. It worked, somewhat. He remembered he had to go up a flight of stairs to reach their room and navigated his way unsteadily through hallways too loud and the hung lanterns too bright for ghosts to come out. Maybe someone had seen him and pushed him along in the right direction. Law would never remember.

The room. The futon. The pillow wrapping snugly around the half of his face he pressed into it. The smell of dust and mold and ocean breeze and, perhaps, a whiff of roasted meat.

His dreams weren’t usually vivid, when he dreamed at all. Oftentimes he muddled through discombobulating hallways and rooms while plagued by a feeling of complete dissociation from his mind and body, as though he were watching a puppet made in his likeness being played by an invisible performance artist who had no idea what Law was like. These so-called anxiety dreams were few and far between.

Thanks to his drunkenness this one was completely uninhibited, all the mystery and obscurity stripped from it like skin so he could see the blood pulsing in the arteries and capillaries underneath. He stood inside a recovery room, or at least something representing a recovery room set out like a stage in a play, in his father’s hospital looking out over the ash-covered White City through a fogged window when something in the light or his vision changed and his father’s reflection appeared behind him over his right shoulder. Law was paralyzed by shock and delight at the sight of him, his feet and eyes refusing to move and lose sight of the apparition. Every feature of Dr. Trafalgar was as Law remembered it exactly, down to the scratchy whiskers on his chin and upper lip that had driven his wife crazy during their brief and otherwise blissful marriage and the broad, warm, endlessly loving smile frozen in agelessness. His mother, Dr. Water, appeared next. Beautiful as ever, her mouth had a funny way of one side turning upward higher than the other when she smiled. In the reflection in the window, her hand was on Law’s shoulder.

“You look tired, sweetie.”

His breaths came in ragged but he couldn’t find air to speak. He couldn’t find air at all. He was suffocating. He wanted to cry.

_Mother! Father!_

He knew turning around would shatter this fragile moment. Whatever had happened to cross their world and his, that crossing was tangential. In a moment, they would be gone again. His mouth opened and closed uselessly as he tried to figure out some way to unleash the combination of all the joy and affection and fear from inside of him.

Beyond the reflection of the window came the slow creaking sound of old hinges. In an instant the sound became the dream entirely, the room and its occupants an afterthought, as Law remembered exactly where he’d heard it before. The hinges on the old wooden cabinet. Now a third person stood behind him he couldn't see at all. Still, he knew who was there, and through sheer force of will he pushed out a strangled cry.

“Lami! Lami!” His voice was small, breathless and choking. “Lami, I’m s−”

A pair of small hands placed themselves at his back and pushed him through the window. As the ground came rushing up at him, he woke up.


End file.
